by Ty Patterson
He had followed the stockbroker several times and knew the street was empty that time of the night. From there on, it had been a matter of the thing telling him when to strike.
He looked lazily around. No one. No lights in the neighboring homes. It was as if he was the only man on the planet. He looked down at the body and stepped back from the pool of blood.
Now what?
This was the first kill in which he had time, ample time. Or maybe it was the first kill in which he didn’t feel rushed. With practice came perfection. With perfection came innovation.
He looked around the street and against a lamp post far ahead, spotted a plastic bag. It was stuck to the post like driftwood. He jogged and then stopped himself.
Professional killers didn’t run. Runners got remembered. They strolled.
His lips twisted in a grin under the black mask. This killing thing was fun.
He held the plastic bag and wrapped it around the glove on his hand.
He extended a finger, dipped it in the blood and scrawled on the pavement.
A question mark.
Ha.
That would send the cops into frenzy. Maybe he would get air time on TV.
They were in Commissioner Rolando’s office, where they had come to share their findings. Rolando heard them for a few minutes, held a hand up to stop them, punched numbers in his phone and summoned Detectives Chang and Pizaka.
The two detectives worked together and had been partners for a long time. Chang’s thinning hair, sleepy eyes and slightly rumpled look contrasted sharply to the model-like appearance of his partner.
Detective Pizaka, the speaker, was dressed in a cream suit whose knife edges sliced through the air as he moved about. A gold tie over a blue shirt neatly parted thick hair and a pair of shades completed the GQ-like look.
They had come across the cops when they had gone up against a criminal gang that was growing fast in the city. He was aware the two cops regarded him and his team as mavericks. They had been called worse.
Rolando made them go through everything again when the cops came in. Beth and Meghan Petersen took the floor, running through their hypotheses succinctly. Zeb saw the cops, including the commissioner, lean forward as if to strike when the twins began, relax slowly as the sisters continued.
They’re impressed. They should be.
Pizaka didn’t show any appreciation though, as he growled when they had finished. ‘Let me see. You’ve got this theory, but so far you’ve got nothing to show for it. You’ve got a boyfriend in the mix who is likely to be irrelevant. What exactly have you got?’
Zilch. He didn’t say it, but it sounded loud and clear in the room.
Meghan Petersen smiled sweetly at him. ‘I’m betting it’s more than what you’ve got. You didn’t even ask for the camera footage from any of the victims’ workplaces. Maybe if you stopped ironing your trousers so much, you would have some time for investigation.’
‘All this, after just a few hours of chewing away at it.’ Beth added helpfully. You guys have been working on it for a few months.
Broker snorted and covered it with a cough.
Pizaka’s face turned deep red, Chang blinked once.
Rolando halted Pizaka in his tracks with a glare.
‘Let’s can the cheap shots. Zeb and Broker did tell me they were going to look into the killings and that they would share. They’ve done that. Why don’t you loop us all in on where you both have gotten?’
Chang picked up the ball and walked them through the latest killing.
‘Mark Koppels wanted to be a millionaire and now is a dead stockbroker.
‘He was very active on the internet. He had all the social media profiles that you would expect. Our tech specialists are looking into those profiles and those of the other victims.’
‘He was killed by a blunt instrument with a rounded surface. A new baseball bat. We found trace evidence on Koppels’ body. Forensics is still processing it, but has confirmed the weapon. All the bats used in the kills so far were new. We found nothing else at the site.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Except this.’
He held up a photograph of the question mark.
Zeb studied it in silence and passed it onto Broker and the sisters.
‘It’s by him?’ he asked Chang and Pizaka.
Pizaka nodded. ‘That time of the night, there’s hardly any pedestrian traffic in that block of Brooklyn. He was discovered by a dog walker at five a.m. today who hung around and ensured the site wasn’t contaminated.’
Rolando read Zeb and Broker. ‘Yeah, he’s now confident enough to send these messages. Now he believes he’s perfected killing and this gives him the additional thrill.’
There was an air of respect when Chang addressed the twins. ‘We too worked out that the killer probably goes on the internet to find his victims. All of them had active lives on the internet. Your friend, Lester, for example, used it to keep in touch with folks in the DRC.’
Meghan glanced at the disc and back at him.
He grinned ruefully. ‘We’ve got footage of most of the cameras around the other killings. This site was next on our list. We’ve also looked into this latest killing, but unfortunately there aren’t any cameras aimed at the site.’
Rolando broke the silence that fell over them. ‘We’re eight killings and nearly five months down now. We need to crack this and do it fast.’
He straightened. ‘You guys.’ He looked in Zeb’s direction. ‘I want you to be consultants to the NYPD on this case. You’ll be leading this investigation in all but name, since Pizaka and Chang have the cop killer on their plate. I ran the idea past Pizaka and Chang earlier today and they’re okay with it.’
Whoa. That was from left field. Zeb looked at the two cops seated beside the Commissioner. Looks like they’re okay with Rolando’s request.
‘You’ve acquired a quiet reputation in the city and you have some heavy firepower behind you.’ Rolando smiled briefly.
Their work with the agency was known to only a handful of people in the country, but the NYPD was aware of them because of the previous mission.
‘We need all the firepower we can get and given that our resources are currently stretched thin, I want you onboard. You will have full access to the NYPD’s resources, Pizaka and Chang will be your point men.’ He looked in Broker’s direction and added drily. ‘I’m sure you guys have considerable resources yourselves, but nothing in-admissible please.’
Nothing that could be thrown out in a court.
The Commissioner leaned forward. ‘I’m going public today with the serial killer angle. It’s better to be in control of the news cycle than have that beast control you. I want to mention you guys as consultants.’
It was a question.
Zeb looked at Broker and got a tiny nod. Broker was all for it.
But am I good with this? We’re not cops. We’re not investigators.
All his life he’d worked in the shadows serving his country, initially as a soldier, now in a different capacity. All his life he’d waged battles. Previously the enemy was known, fixed, had a shape and color. Increasingly, the threat was diffuse, but no less dangerous.
Is this any different? You fix problems. Investigation is part of fixing. This is just another problem.
There are rules here, a helluva lot of them.
Yeah, there are. So what? You can, and have worked within them before.
We’ll be in the media spotlight.
There’s nothing about any of you really that the media can tag onto. You all have your covers that Rolando will go public with. The girls aren’t connected to you on any record or file. Your past doesn’t exist. The agency isn’t exposed.
There are rumors. The army grapevine has stories about us.
Don’t’ be a pussy. You’ve cheated death quite a few times. Surely you can handle some gossip.
But this – I don’t like being in the public eye.
Deal with it. You’ve res
haped your life a few times. How’s this different?
We’re about combat and action.
This is urban combat.
Clare?
She’ll sign off on it. She’s never stopped any of your non-agency missions. There’s nothing burning on the agency front. In fact she’ll want you to work with the NYPD. There will be favors that she can call on at some point in the future.
But....
Look at Rolando.
Zeb looked at the Commissioner as the silence hung in the room and realized he’d mistaken what was in the Commissioner’s eyes.
It wasn’t a question. It was a request.
‘Sure. We’ll be happy to help.’ The Commissioner’s relaxing was imperceptible to all but the sharpest eyes.
‘I’ll send a contract across. Pizaka and Chang are still the lead detectives as far as the outside world is concerned and you’ll work with them. They’ll help you liaise with other departments.’ Rolando’s lips quirked again. ‘I hope that won’t be a problem.’
Zeb shook his head. ‘We’re good.’
Pizaka removed his shades and polished them. You never knew when and where a Hollywood casting agent would surface. ‘We’ve checked out all killers released from prison. All accounted for. No juice on him from the streets. Our boy is someone new to us.’
‘You’ll share your files with us?’ Zeb asked him.
The cop nodded and led them to the investigation room once the Commissioner left them.
The room had a timeline drawn on a whiteboard, on which the victims’ photographs were tacked. It looked very similar to what the twins had come up with.
The sisters crowded around it, pushing Zeb and Broker to the back. ‘Anything found on the sign?’
‘Nope. We found a plastic bag with traces of blood on it, fifty feet away. Wind must have blown it. The killer wrapped the bag around his hand to make the sign. The bag came from a bin that was nearby. A few billion of those bags around in the city.’
Zeb looked at Curtis’s body. ‘Gomez is being threatened by a gang to take on illegal workers. Curtis was a witness to one of those threats.’
Chang lost his sleepy look as he swung around at Zeb. ‘You’re sure about this?’
Zeb nodded and briefed them on the meeting he had with Gomez.
He dug out his phone and showed a blurred photograph of the two big men. ‘I couldn’t get a better picture. They were walking away.’ He forwarded the images to Chang’s email.
An aide interrupted them, it was time for the press conference.
The killer turned the volume up on his TV when the press conference flashed on the screen. He smiled when he read the words scrolling at the bottom: Internet Killer Terrorizes City.
Baseball Bat Killer. He liked that.
He focused on the two men sitting beside the cops. Both were tall, one of them had thick, long blond hair and looked like the surfing version of Robert Redford. The other was lean, brown haired and quiet.
The media picked on the blond and peppered him with questions which he answered easily. The killer snorted. The man deflected most of the questions with such practiced ease that the reporters didn’t realize they were being toyed with.
The killer wrote down their names on a pad which had other names on it, many of them slashed out.
It was time to do some research.
‘We’ll look into the boyfriend,’ Meghan told Zeb as Broker drove them back to his office. ‘He’s most likely just a creep, but you never know.’
‘What about you, Wise One? On whom will you shine your bright light?’
Broker laughed when Zeb kept silent.
‘He’s going to check out that gang. I knew it the moment he mentioned them.’ His eyes twinkled as he met Meghan’s in the mirror. ‘Mission creep is when Zeb tags these side projects on to the main one.’
Meghan looked at the brown haired man sitting beside her. He watched the city flow by, ignoring the conversation around him.
If it hadn’t been for his mission creep, Beth and I wouldn’t be here.
‘Thank you,’ she said when Zeb felt her glance and looked at her.
Beth caught the byplay in the mirror, rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s can the drama. We have a killer to catch.’
Broker mock-grimaced when Beth spotted his grin and punched his shoulder.
Zeb looked back at the city as it slid silently behind. He knew Broker didn’t mean it when he said mission creep. There was a remote possibility the gang could have killed Curtis. They had to run it down.
The killer read the profiles on Zeb Carter and Broker that were handed out by the cops and found them lacking. He looked them up on search engines, didn’t find anything on them. He went on social media sites and came up empty. He drummed his fingers as he watched the city’s night lights through a window.
He went to a message board which was frequented by people like him. People who liked killing.
He searched for one of the regular members, didn’t find him. He typed a brief message and waited.
Fifteen minutes later, an icon flashed on his screen.
‘Haven’t heard of them. Will ask around.’
The killer thanked him, logged off and removed all traces of his visit. The message board was hidden in the darknet, and only the smallest handful of people on the planet had access to it. But it still paid to be cautious.
He went to an inner room, turned on the light and surveyed an array of baseball bats lined on the wall. Several of them had blood, dried and caked, on them.
How would I kill those two? A new bat for a new kill?
Chapter 7
Richard Hewitt, Alisha Jones’ boyfriend was a runner too.
He ran five miles every day, usually at six a.m. in Central Park, alone with just a pair of headphones for company. The only days he missed his schedule were the days it rained.
‘Strange the two of them don’t run together.’ Beth panted. The two of them had finished their run and were in the fifth block of their Insanity routine. It was a routine Zeb had customized for them for the outdoors to which they had added their own refinements. The Petersens had been slim to start with and Zeb’s workout regime had built a layer of muscle tone and stamina on top.
‘Running can be a solitary pleasure. Or maybe their schedules don’t match.’
‘Schedules?’ Beth scoffed. ‘They’re students, even if MBA students. Other than hitting the books and the bars, they don’t have schedules to keep.
Hewitt appeared in the distance wearing a track suit, yellow top, blue trainers, and a pair of red headphones. He jogged with the runner’s gaze – staring off in the middle distance – and didn’t glance in the twins’ direction. They followed him at a distance, an uneventful run which took them to the CBS campus an hour later.
They had been following the boyfriend for three days now and while he was often seen with Alisha, it was clear the relationship was strained. There was a distance between the two when they were together, a couple of times the couple argued publicly.
‘Heading for Splitsville.’ Beth commented sagely.
‘Nope, she’s loaded now. He will stick to her like a burr.’ Meghan snickered.
She had run Hewitt through Werner and the man had come clean. He had a few DUI offenses, a couple of parking tickets, nothing else on him. His bank account was a mirror of those of thousands of students across the country.
Hewitt was not the loving, caring boyfriend that he made out to be, but he didn’t seem connected to the killings in anyway. That day would be the last they would spend any more time on him, to rule him out.
The couple emerged from the campus in the evening, dressed casually and headed to the subway. They weren’t alone. A bunch of students straggled behind them. The weekend had started, drinks had to be consumed, a good time had to be had before the books beckoned.
Four hours later it happened.
The sisters occupied a corner table which gave them a broad view of the bar as well as the exits.
The bar was noisy and crowded, but they had no trouble keeping an eye on Alisha and her boyfriend. Hewitt was loud, increasingly loud, laughed raucously and slapped palms with his male friends frequently. He jostled Alisha who stepped back, he crowded her, and she turned away. He laughed.
Some of his friends looked uneasy, a couple of them drifted away.
The lighting in the bar dimmed, dance tracks came on, a space in the center cleared for those who had the inclination and the moves. For those who didn’t, as well.
Hewitt tugged Alisha’s hand. She resisted. He tugged her again and she followed. The couple was on the floor for fifteen minutes when Alisha turned to leave. He tugged her hand to stop her, she pulled back. He grabbed her close and for a moment, the twins lost sight of them. They could hear him though over the crowd.
The couple jostled for a minute, she pushed him away and marched off. He placed a hand over her shoulder; she swung round and slapped him.
The report wasn’t loud and most of the patrons didn’t hear it over the music and noise. The few around them stepped back, made room for Alisha. Richard shouted something unintelligible, grabbed her furiously with his left hand, his right drawn back.
His right arm swung.
It never reached.
Meghan grabbed it, twisted it around his back, and kicked his legs from underneath him while Beth hustled Alisha out of the bar.
Meghan joined them a few minutes later.
‘His friends are tending to him.’ She said shortly when the ebony-skinned woman looked at her mutely. ‘He didn’t resist, apologized even. You want to make a bigger deal out of this?’
You want to call the cops?
The bar’s throb faded in the distance as the night’s chill settled over them. Alisha Jones looked in the direction of the bar, back at them, drew a shaky breath and composed herself. She shook her head.
‘No. He had too much to drink. It’s happened a few times before. It won’t be happening ever again.’ Her tone was final.
The twins watched her, giving her time.
Her gaze was sharp when it finally turned on them.
‘The two of you just happened to be in the same nightclub?’
‘Nope. We’ve been watching him for a few days.’ Beth told her bluntly.